


A Working Plan

by Bralatine



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Awkwardness, Cuddling out of necessity, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Huddling For Warmth, Obitine, On the Run, Platonic Cuddling, Pre-Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, Present Tense, Sharing a Bed, early friendship, or rather ... non-angst, which is a big deal for me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:26:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28375386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bralatine/pseuds/Bralatine
Summary: Two months on the run have led to this: a dilapidated inn without electricity, a snowstorm raging outside, and one tiny bed.Satine Kryze is determined to make the best of it, no matter how skeptical her Jedi protectors are.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn & Satine Kryze
Comments: 9
Kudos: 67





	A Working Plan

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, dear readers! Here's a little fic unlike anything I've written before. As the self-proclaimed Empress of Angst, I was challenged by the lovely shippers on the Obitine Discord server to write something with *no* sadness! 
> 
> (And old habits die hard! I had to jettison a little sub-plot exploring the Mandalorian equivalent of Christmas, because it kept getting angsty!)
> 
> Someone asked for Satine, Qui-Gon, and Obi-Wan all awkwardly sharing a bed, and that image stuck in my head. It isn't even Obitine . . . just more general friendship between the three of them.
> 
> Semi-crack, semi-fluff, no angst in sight! Hope you enjoy!

  
The wind whistles through the cracks in the unsealed window. Frost climbs up the inside of the transparisteel and a few stray flakes flutter inside. Satine swallows a comment that her father definitely would have said wasn't ladylike. She knows that she should be grateful that they weren't outside in this weather, but the dilapidated inn they'd found on the outskirts of town doesn't seem much better at the moment.  
  
No electricity. No heat. No running water—there was nothing she wouldn't give for a hot shower right now—and one tiny bed in the center of the room.  
  
Master Jinn walks passed her and sheds his cloak, which is soaked from the blizzard they'd been caught in. Satine catches a smell and turns her head away. She likes Master Jinn. He had been a welcome and comforting presence during the last two months on the run, but there wasn't anything she wouldn't give for a shower for _him_ right now too.  
  
She probably can't talk. She certainly doesn't smell like a bed of roses.  
  
Qui-Gon hangs the cloak by the door, looks at the bed as if considering it for the first time, and then looks back at her.  
  
"Do you have a preference for a side, Duchess?"  
  
A preference?  
  
Yes, please. Her soft, fluffy bed on Kalevala, if you don't mind.  
  
"Right, I suppose."  
  
Qui-Gon gestures to the bed, not a hint of embarrassment or discomfort. She's glad for it. No need to make this situation more awkward than it already is.  
  
Satine hangs up her own wet cloak and then crawls in fully clothed. She looks at the giant Jedi skeptically, wondering how on earth this was going work. She resigns herself to a tight squeeze, but the bed is short even for her. It would never fit him.  
  
Qui-Gon crawls beneath the covers and settles next to her. She angles herself on the edge of the mattress to give him as much space as possible, and by lying on his side and pulling his knees up slightly, he just manages to get his giant frame on the bed.  
  
This could actually work, she thinks.  
  
She relaxes into the bed, already grateful for the combined heat. If the room got any colder than it already was, at least they wouldn't freeze to death.  
  
There's a soft knock on the door. It squeaks as it opens, and then Obi-Wan's voice filters in along with the dim light from the hallway. "Master?"  
  
Qui-Gon turns toward the door. "What is it, Obi-Wan?"  
  
Satine raises an eyebrow as Obi-Wan shuffles in, awkwardly rubbing a hand on the back of his head. "The innkeeper . . . she, uh, she kicked me out of my room."  
  
"What did you do?" Satine asks incredulously.  
  
"Nothing!" Obi-Wan shoots back with a glare. "She said that there was a last-minute guest who needed a place."  
  
"We already paid!" Satine couldn't stop the shrillness in her voice.  
  
"I told her that! Well, I tried to tell her that."  
  
"What did you say?" Qui-Gon says gently.  
  
"I said—" Obi-Wan lets out a series of hesitant grunts and snorts. Satine smirks in amusement.  
  
"Close, padawan," Qui-Gon responds. His dry tone doesn't quite cover his amusement. "You told her 'we already ate the room'."  
  
"Oh." It's dark but Satine assumes Obi-Wan is blushing. "Well, how do you say 'we paid for' it?"  
  
The squeals and grunts come from her this time, and she makes sure to inhale where Obi-Wan gave a huff. Two pairs of eyes turn to her.  
  
She shrugs. "I had a poly-sci tutor who was an Ugnaught at the university on Coruscant."  
  
Qui-Gon smirks at her, clearly impressed.  
  
Obi-Wan crosses his arms. "Anyway, she said every other room is full and that we could leave if she didn't like it, but . . ." He gestures to the blowing snow streaking across the window.  
  
"She knew we wouldn't take her up on that offer." Qui-Gon's voice is resigned, clearly thinking through their options.  
  
There didn't seem to be any. No other rooms but this one. No other bed except . . .  
  
"It's alright, Master," Obi-Wan says, quickly. "I'll just sleep on the floor."  
  
Satine furrows her brow. He couldn't be serious. He'd freeze in the middle of the night with only his wet cloak to cover him.  
  
"Are you certain? Perhaps I could sleep on the floor and you . . ." he stops, as if put off by his own idea. "Though no, probably not."  
  
Satine realizes what he was going to say and tenses, trying to shake the image of herself and the young Jedi together in bed, as close as she and Qui-Gon are now. This situation is innocent; she doubts that situation would feel the same.  
  
"It's fine, Master," Obi-Wan's voice catches, and she knows the same image is in his mind. "I—I'll be fine for the night."  
  
"If you're sure." Qui-Gon sounds hesitant, but also willing to take his apprentice up on the offer.  
  
Satine raises an eyebrow at him. "You can't be serious."  
  
Qui-Gon looks back. He always seems a little surprised when she talks back to him. Perhaps it's her _tone_ , as her father liked to say. But she can't help it when people make bad decisions.  
  
"Would you like to propose an alternative, Duchess?"  
  
Obi-Wan is already stretching out on the floor.  
  
In some ways, Satine finds the Jedi to be downright ascetic, but Obi-Wan's tendencies tended toward masochistic.  
  
She resists the urge to roll her eyes.  
  
"Yes, yes, I would," she says. She sits up in order to look down at the boy on the floor, who looks, she thinks, positively pathetic. "Padawan Kenobi, you are free to join us up here."  
  
Obi-Wan's eyes meet hers, wide and shocked, as if he simply can't fathom what she's saying.  
  
"I think we'll all be more comfortable together." She uses a low and patient voice, the ones she reserves for simpletons and clueless politicians.  
  
"You must be joking," the infernal boy says.  
  
She wonders if he can see her raised eyebrow in the dark.  
  
"I don't joke."  
  
He looks at his master, clearly unable to make this decision for himself. Qui-Gon seems as shocked as he when he shrugs and says, "You heard the duchess."  
  
As Obi-Wan stands, Satine moves as far to the side of the bed as possible. Qui-Gon shifts closer to her, bending his knees toward the ceiling so that his feet don't hang off the edge. Obi-Wan looks like he wants the floor to swallow him up, but he lifts the covers and slides next to Qui-Gon. It's not enough room and as Qui-Gon shifts again to try to give him more room, Satine finds she has no more bed to give. With an "oof!" she finds herself sprawled on the cold floor.  
  
"Are you alright, Duchess?"  
  
"I _knew_ this wouldn't work," Obi-Wan whines.  
  
But from her now experienced vantage point, she knows that anyone of them sleeping on the cold, hard ground isn't an option. She picks herself back up.  
  
"Yes," she says stubbornly. "It _will_."  
  
It is how she approaches all problems to be solved: dogged determination and an occasion refusal to acknowledge doubts from other people.  
  
Well, if it works . . .  
  
She climbs in once more. She wraps her arm over Master Jinn's torso in order to stabilize herself. Obi-Wan teeters on his side, then flings his arm over hers in a similar position. He grabs her arm, but she sees his eyes go wide and then pulls his hand away awkwardly.  
  
It's supremely uncomfortable, but it _will_ work.  
  
"See?" she says. "What did I say?"  
  
The bed groans under their collective weight.  
  
"We're going to break this thing."  
  
"Nonsense, padawan, you worry too much."  
  
The squeaks even out and then cease.  
  
She's practically lying on Master Jinn's chest and by necessity, Obi-Wan is doing the same. She'll sleep better knowing that the apprentice Jedi isn't freezing to death on the floor; she doesn't know if she can say the same for his master, who seems like he's trying not to breathe too hard lest he cause one of them to fall off the bed again.  
  
Still, they'll all make it through the night, unconventional as this solution is. So, problem solved.  
  
Almost.  
  
There is still one particular matter she can't rectify.  
  
"You both smell like the backside of a bantha."  
  
"Well," Obi-Wan says, "at least we're in good company."  
  
Qui-Gon snorts.  
  
Satine smacks Obi-Wan upside his head, which is close enough to hers that she can see the smile in his eyes.  
  
She grins back.


End file.
